Twelfth Apostle
by Shrapnel893
Summary: Universal Century 0096, end of the Laplace Incident. Marida Cruz awakens on a hospital bed on Side 3, her friends and loved ones far away, their lights faint, yet knowing they're shining brighter than ever. Now, she must adapt to civilian life and all of the troubles that come with it. Along the way, she meets new faces and uncovers old ghosts. (AU)
1. In Spite of It All

**Author's Note: I've currently decided to go through each of my stories and finish them one by one, at the same time combing through their narratives and making them the best I can. This is the first. **

**Expect already released chapters to be re-uploaded with changes or to be partially or wholly rewritten.**

***Deviates from canon, has original characters and altered canonical personalities of (some) canon characters, includes material from Universal Century timeline and most prominently Mobile Suit Gundam Z, ZZ, IGLOO, Unicorn, and Evolve**

**Without further ado:**

* * *

**I: In Spite of It All**

Marida Cruz greeted and thanked the _Nahel Argama_ engineers who had painstakingly and so quickly refurbished the _Kshatriya_ according to what she and the rest of the _Garencieres _crew had laid-out in their specifications. With what little they had to work with, in both time and resources, the outcome was spectacular, and, resting the flat of her hand on its cold surface, all without removing what made it hers.

Even though it had been repaired into a new construct, stripped of its basic frame and weaponry, and transformed into a larger, bulkier, but vastly more efficient machine, it was still familiar to her touch. Each stroke beneath her palm sent a refreshing tingle from her head down to her toes, each bringing forth a memory of every battle fought and survived. No longer did scar or abrasion mar its surface, yet she could still feel them, resonating. They were a part of her, never to wither or disappear as she let the faint smile on her lips widen, remembering words she had spoken once before.

_Compassion alone cannot save people_, she echoed in her head as she traversed the reaches of her conscious, fingers continuing to move across her mobile suit's newly coated finish. _It cannot erase sin or wash away impurities_. The memories she'd once left forgotten. _But, in spite of it all..._

"In spite of it all…" she said to herself, staring at her hand and mulling over the words as she watched it gently move this way and that slowly. Caressingly. "It's all too sad," she finished, repeating the words of her fellow pilot, friend to herself and the Princess.

Removing her hand, she looked down at the lines patterning across; lines that represented years upon years of sadness and pain and sorrow. Curling her fingers, she continued to mull over those words—the reason behind them. It all started, she deduced, with the touch of a human hand. The warmth of another.

Encased inside her capsule all those years ago, everything had been blank and unfamiliar. When opening her eyes for the first time, she had been confined behind glass, vision blurred by the freezing temperatures needed to preserve her body for the extended period of her creation. Taking her first breath of air immediately afterward had been like sucking ice into her lungs. It was chilling and dark, lonely and quiet, then blinding as her newly awakened senses were bathed in a harsh, bright light. An unknown hand then appeared and took one of hers and pulled her up, the man behind it offering his greetings. A young man wearing the colors of Neo-Zeon, his face holding a pleasant expression that, underneath the facade, was much colder than the capsule, had been the first thing her eyes laid upon, and without even being told she'd knew him to be her Master.

Glemy Toto. That was his name, she found out years later. The first amongst many down a long list filled with unquestionable servitude. She hadn't cared for his name, who he was, it hadn't mattered to her then, and when his beloved, Roux Louka, took his life, she hadn't wept. The only thing that did was whose orders she would receive and carry out from then on.

Her sisters, too, had perished at the Battle of Axis, and she, the only one besides Ple Two, had defied the dedication and service they had all upheld to their late first master. For the others, it would be their first, and their last. She had wept then, for them. Each of them had come from the same being, but, as with everyone else, they each were different than the source they were created from. Individuals, only with the same face and abilities. Their own souls.

The concept of which, a soul, the term she had pondered over and over all those years ago, still stuck with her even now, bringing forth the question she always asked herself: could a soul... be lonely? If her sisters were still alive today, would they be wondering the same things as she? Would they be still be different as they were back then, or would they become one and the same? A single entity only existing to follow their master and his or her orders, without question? They were gone, lost forever, and nothing she could ever hope could bring them back, no matter how much she longed them to be beside her. Snuffed out in a matter of milliseconds as she had floated aimlessly in space, surrounded by the black of space. All those years ago. The bond they shared had been severed just like that, and she had desperately reached out for the lines that had connected them, only able to grasp the thin air inside her cockpit—the nothingness.

Balling her hand into a fist, she let it fall to her side as she looked up at her mobile suit, still searching for an answer to the words: in spite of it all.

Walking out back to her quarters, Marida's mind reached further down to other memories that she'd rather leave buried. Ones that she knew she couldn't avoid in order to figure out the real meaning behind them, and brought to the surface again was the crash immediately after her descent from the battle.

The landing had jostled her small frame around the cramped environment of her escape pod and she'd collided with the back of her seat, knocked unconscious for what could have been minutes, hours, or days. Waking to blaring lights, the emergency systems had still been online. Her helmet, smeared with vomit and blood, cracks along the thermoplastic glass had sealed shut and kept her alive. Upon removing it, a pounding headache hit her and the pain shot its way throughout the rest of her body.

As if punishment for defying her dedication to her first master. Punishment for abandoning her sisters. The punishment for her betrayal.

And, holding the side of her head where she'd suffered the concussion, she'd tried opening the pod's hatch as everything wavered and, holding that same spot as she held onto the handle that went down the corridor to her quarters, time seemed to stop as she gasped for air.

Slumped inside the pod, her mind listlessly floating around inside her head, she'd thought herself horrible. A traitor. Killed them all with her own two hands and, when the hatch finally opened, she met the woman that was to be her second master.

The owner of an illegal child prostitution ring, she was a cruel and vile woman who only saw the value in others as how much they could endure before outliving their usefulness and were discarded. It was under the thumb of this new master that she had been broken, violated, and suffered the most. Multiple scars and burns were accumulated over the years with her, and, temporarily, she would be given a new master each night. Sometimes the same one more than once. Countless times, she hadn't felt anything at all. Countless times, nothing registered in her brain except how to best serve the constant fluctuation, ever changing, following her second master's commands. The light of the headlamp overhead and the creaking of the bed. The feeling of something heavy, always so heavy, being removed from her stomach. That is, until, one day, the man who was to be her third master came.

Marida now stood in front of her quarters, staring at the door. The first time she had met Zinnerman, she had thought him to just be another master, but after his handling of the woman who was her second, she knew him to be her official third. He had named her, given her a new identity and a home, and was all around the sole one she was truly grateful to call 'Master'—even if he despised it—and, eventually, recently, 'Father'. A bulwark of a man, she remembered with a smile on her face the look in his eyes when she'd called him that. The pain and sadness and regret of his past mended with the tears he cried. If only some, it was enough. She had given back what he desperately, longingly, wanted, and, in turn, she had gotten what she never knew she could.

Whatever awaited on this last battlefield, she was ready for it. In spite of it all, there is always hope.


	2. Into the Unknown

**II: Into the Unknown**

Miniature display monitor resting on his lap, Lucas watched it blink on and off as he used the grappling arms of his TOLRO-800 to clear discarded junk and rock from an old sector of space outside Side 3. The debris had been floating around untouched since the One Year War and he wiped his brow. It was easy, but tiresome work.

Looking around his crowded cockpit, out the domed glass casing protecting him from the cold nothingness of outer space, there was still a lot of it left and twisting to look behind, red lights from the landing station were illuminating the back of his 800, turning its own red coating a brighter shade. Shining off the once polished metal, now caked in dust and whatever else he'd been sifting through during his shift since he started. Yet, even as he was sweaty, his 800 dirtied, and his shift still not over, he smiled. There was still a while to go yet. His eyes went down to the monitor on his lap. It'd blinked again.

Explosions from the battle being broadcast somewhere by Side 4.

Unwrapping a candy bar, he chewed it thoughtfully. The broadcast was solely focused on the white and gray mobile suit that was wreaking havoc on what looked to be modified Zaku II's. Its design was recognizable anywhere. A Gundam.

Seeing it in action was the current highlight of his life, having followed its exploits since its first mention on the news. It was the reality he wanted for himself. Not to be piloting it, specifically, but to just be there, fighting alongside. To be a _real_ mobile suit pilot was his dream. One that he could only continue to envision with rapt imagination at what it must be like as he watched the battle rage on. All he had were the sights and the sounds and none of the feeling. He _wanted_ that feeling.

Taking another bite of the candy bar, the screen lit up with colorful arrays of explosions in bright reds, yellows, and oranges but sometimes greens, purples and blues; the sizzle and burn of beam weaponry, and the belting slap of the few outdated projectile rifles, then… the incredible happened. The Gundam became engaged in combat with another of its kind.

_Another_ Gundam!

Black and gold, it was in clear contrast to its counterpart, and, as they grappled with one another, each gave off some type of light that seemed to have wills of their own that morphed and bent and pushed against the other. It was a mesmerizing sight, until, without warning, missiles fired from another mobile suit separated them and, what he could only think of as a large green bell pepper, swooped in. It fired off another series of missiles, engaging the black Gundam as the white one disengaged to join another section of the battlefield. He continued to watch, spell-bound, as this green mobile suit managed to go head-to-head with the black Gundam, weaving in and out of the space blowing up all around them with the expertise of a seasoned veteran—even succeeding in blowing off one of its lower legs, until it halted mid flight and held out its arms.

Lucas wondered why when he saw that a Federation vessel, what he assumed to be its carrier, was being targeted by the black Gundam, and realized the green mobile suit was shielding it. The black Gundam raised its beam cannon and he waited for it to fire. When it finally did, hitting the right side of the green mobile suit's cockpit, its aim veered further right, destroying the mobile suit's entire right side, the beam skirting the edge of the Federation vessel behind. It then dropped the weapon, probably out of charge, and continued after the white Gundam, leaving Lucas to stare at the green mobile suit left adrift.

Now watching support crews from its carrier coming to retrieve it before the feed went back to the action, deja vu hit him like a wave when he was reminded vaguely of Léon when he'd watched her pilot the same TOLRO-800 that he was using now.

That same feeling of awe.

Whoever the pilot of that green mobile suit was, he was very skilled. The smile he'd kept plastered on his face the whole time curved downward. Well, whoever that pilot was, he was probably dead, given the damage.

And, he was so fixated on the retrieval that he hit a drifting chunk of debris, scratching his 800 and bumping his head on the glass. Rubbing the spot, he sighed at the monitor on the floor, broken, and accepted his mistake.

"What a waste," he said, going back to his job.

* * *

After his shift, Lucas walked the evening streets of Side 3, hands in his pockets as he absentmindedly took in the city sights and thought of his sister and what she must be doing right now. Probably still working, as usual. It was always work, work, work with her, and she never had time anymore for anything else, especially in the past few months leading up to and during this new conflict that was taking place. That battle he'd watched earlier had been a part of it—the biggest one thus far, the local news stated on the holos. If only he could have seen its outcome, looking up at one of them positioned all around Central Square. The only things being displayed on the screen now were local advertisements. He recognized his mom's company, which specialized in mobile suit manufacturing and engineering, of which he and Léon helped out with from time to time.

Waiting for his turn to cross the intersection along with dozens upon dozens of other people on their way home for the day, or wherever, he listened to them cycle through until the news came on, but when it didn't he looked up again just as a stern-faced girl with striking green eyes appeared on every screen, far as the eye could see. In front of him, she even appeared on someone's hand held device. She looked familiar, but he couldn't place from where until the image zoomed out to reveal her in Zeon garb—and not just any, but that of royalty.

"I am Mineva Lao Zabi. Once the heir to the Principality of Zeon, and I stand before you all to address a secret I have only just recently discovered and would like to share with everyone, here, now, and in the bright future ahead of us."

Mineva Lao Zabi. _Zabi_. His parents had mentioned the Zabi name before, saying that all of them were dead. But, there one was, right before his and everyone else's eyes, garnering their full attention as she spoke of possibility. That the world was entering a new century, ripe with new opportunities for humanity to better itself. Strive above conflict and come together for the sake of both ordinary human and Newtypes alike. A member of a family known for causing the greatest conflict known to mankind in this Universal Century and could be blamed for the majority after. Yet, this girl wasn't a power hungry dictator or warmongering rebellious leader. She was simply just a girl, one who desired peace and after a few more choice words the once Zabi heir said her farewells and left everyone in a buzz.

As he crossed the street and continued his way home, wondering what his family would think of this sudden turn of events, he passed the medical facility, the one his dad worked at, and knew that his parents would welcome the news. Léon, on the other hand… he wasn't sure. She never cared much for current events and he doubted she'd even bothered to leave her work unattended to watch or listen to that broadcast for so much as a second.

Lucas propped his arm on one of the railings overlooking the medical facility, arguably the best hospital on Side 3, puckering his lips and thinking of asking her about it anyway. She was bound to brush it off, like always, and change the subject to something that interested her. Usually this was something like the inner workings of that civilian transport she fixed last week and her raise because of it. Complaining about how she was long overdue for a promotion instead of another measly minimal wage increase. Repairing, testing, and flying all manner of non-space and space worthy machines alike, that was her main job. Sometimes she would get a combat type mobile suit, but was under orders from dad not to pilot them if they were. As much time as their dad spent in front of that lodestone from the One Year War, polishing it and the names engraved, the reason why was clear. Not that it stopped Léon from doing so, or himself from dreaming he could, some day soon. Right now he had no real goal other than to become a pilot, and he sighed, knowing he'd probably get stuck in a civilian job like most other people despite what he wanted.

Still, he hoped and would continue to do so, since growing up in a family like his, it was only natural the chance would come his way eventually. His parents used to be pilots, his sister had once almost been, and now it was time for the torch to be passed. The battle from before was still fresh in his mind, and if he could just experience something like that firsthand, that was all he wanted. It was only fair.

He vividly remembered the two Gundams and that green mobile suit shaped like a large green bell pepper. A Gundam was recognizable anywhere, no matter what era it was represented in. The green mobile suit, on the other hand, was an unknown. He'd studied all the different models and types and couldn't recall ever seeing anything truly like it. The design was Zeon, that much was obvious, but it wasn't a heavily modified Zaku or Gauf or Dom or any of the Neo-Zeon variants he'd read about. It wasn't a big deal what it was, but the likelihood of him becoming its pilot might be. He knew that the Federation sometimes refitted and refurbished old suits, and while it was more likely he'd get one of theirs, maybe he'd come across a Zeon one. After all, he'd seen GMs at both his mom's company and his sister's workplace. They'd been, for the majority, inoperable and obsolete, but if there were some of their suits here then the opposite was true too.

Who's to say they didn't have more of that particular suit?

* * *

Returning home, he went around back to the warehouse where his dad usually spent his spare time working on medical equipment and found his mom, auburn hair tied back into a ponytail, casually sitting in one of her company's chairs she'd taken from the official offices at the home maintenance station she'd setup for use whenever she had to bring her work home with her. This time it was another civilian suit, a construction type not unlike his 800. Seeing her staring attentively at each of the six connected monitors at her station, eyes darting this way and that, Lucas tried not to disturb her as he made his way over, careful not to step on any of the cables running along the warehouse floor, when she spoke.

"Watch your step, my readings just fluctuated."

He looked down, his foot on a cable just like she'd said despite his effort. Quickly, he stepped off and apologized. Looking at the suit, he thought of asking about that unknown Zeon suit after being thanked when she asked him what he wanted.

"Oh, nothing really," he said instead.

"Just stopped by to chat, huh?" his mom replied, clicking and typing away on her keyboard. "Anything in particular?"

Seeing numbers and lines and graphs and blueprints and tons of other data on the screens closest to where he stood, Lucas shrugged. "Do you know about the broadcast from earlier today? The speech?"

"What about it?"

His gaze wandered off to the side, toward various other mobile suits—all civilian—and the supports that held them, ready to be sent off to their buyers, as he continued, "About the battle… The one right before it..."

"I'm listening," she said, looking over something he couldn't make out from the corner of his eye. Whatever it was flashed and she hit a series of buttons and it stopped.

He asked anyway. Never hurt to try. "There was this… Zeon mobile suit… I'd never seen before. It was green, had two wings that made it look like a big green pepper,"—he tried to give a visual representation, creating two curved wings on either side of his body from left to right—"and used lots of different weapons. Uh, let's see," he held up his fingers and began counting off, "there was a particle cannon, beam saber... I think a gun of some sort... another cannon…" Trailing off, he stood there with six fingers up. "A-anyway, the pilot was very skilled. He almost took out a Gundam..!"

"Hm," his mom mused. "A Zeon suit that looks like a fruit…" She scratched behind her, "Do you mean…" On the screen nearest him a picture of a suit resembling a giant fuzzy ball of squash appeared, "... this…?"

"What, is _that_?"

"The fruit of a madman's labors." She smiled when he cringed. "Your father had the same reaction. Well, joking aside, could you be thinking of a Neo-Zeon suit? Like a Zulu? No? Was it an earlier model? Then..."—the screen changed to show a small, bulky white, red, and purple suit with two wings almost exactly like the four he'd seen—"... this could be it."

He peered closer, reading its name aloud, "The AMX-004... Qubeley…?"

"It's one I helped to build."

He reared back, blinking in astonishment. "Kinda… yeah. Yeah! That's almost just like it! You worked on it?"

"Yes. Back when I still held onto the hope that Axis was fighting for a worthy cause," she sighed, "but once again I was proven wrong and, only stayed to finish my work and then left soon as I was." Indicating at the screen, she finally looked at him, "The one you saw was probably based on it."

He got closer to the screen again, pointing at it as their eyes met, "Do you have anymore information about it?"

Her brow raised. "Why are you so interested all of a sudden?" Then, the realization hit her and she scowled slightly. "Did you find that suit out there somewhere? You're not thinking of trying to pilot it, are you?"

"N-no, I… No, not at all. I..!"

"... just wanted to learn?" Her expression softened. "If that's all, then I'm a-ok with it. Though… knowledge can be a dangerous thing… so… be careful what you delve into, alright?"

"I promise!" As she went back her work, pulling up more information of this new suit for him to read, he barely got through the first few armament logs before asking her if she had any stories.

She chuckled. "And, what, the stories I've told you about my Zudah aren't good enough for you?"

"I mean… you worked on it and all, so… I just thought… Well, you know…"

"Oh, whatever happened to that boy whose eyes used to always twinkle when I talked about the time I saved your dork of a father during A Baoa Qu? Speaking of, since I'm doing you a favor by telling you an old war story, I have something I want you to run to him, if you don't mind…"


	3. Freedom

**III: Freedom**

_Hands on the controls of her Qubeley, Ple Twelve covered her eyes from the intensity of the battle all around her. It was like the heat from a thousand light bulbs that had reached their brightest peak, their highest limit, and popped, sending hot shards of glass flying everywhere. Only, the bulbs were actually mobile suits both friend and foe alike being ripped apart by explosions, and the shards their remains, as she tried to see through the white flashes and maneuver her way around the wreckage, trying to find her partner in all the chaos. _

_Her comlink crackled with the overlapping of many high-pitched voices as they sent coordinates of enemy suits and the status of their own positions. Confirming kills and relaying deaths. Pressing a series of buttons to bring up an all-encompassing view of her surroundings, she pinpointed Ple Seven's—one green triangle enclosed with three red. Her partner was currently engaged and she rushed to the location to link up and assist, but everything was already taken care of by the time she got there. Green beams of energy impaled it from every angle, funnels swerving to attack the next when they were destroyed. Undaunted, her partner dived up and around, blasting the second enemy suit away with her main cannons, mounted on the back. They then turned up and came down to face backwards, firing at the third farther away. As it burst into flames and burned up in the nothingness of space, a face identical to her own appeared on a small screen in front of her, uppermost right._

_"Twelve, pay attention, Master expects no failures. Stay on me and don't get lost."_

_She nodded. "Understood."_

_Swiveling her mobile suit around, she boosted to Ple Seven's location and together the two of them joined up with Ple's Three and Eleven. Ple Three's Qubeley was damaged, a wing shot through, and it was now just a mass of dead weight. Her older sister's mobile suit teetered as she tried to stay level, and her cockpit also appeared to be dented, the residue from an impacted missile round visible. Two more screens came up, Ple Three a little above center left and Ple Eleven the bottommost right. Blood was trickling down Ple Three's forehead and her voice came out strained over the comlink._

_"Broken arm, won't be much use." Her voice was a bit deeper than the others, and it showed when she grunted from the pain. "Can't do much without the arm, but I can still provide enough support. Seven, I want you to take the lead." Her eyes darted to one of her other feeds. "There's a large collection of enemy suits, led by that red one, far upper right, mid center."_

_"I see them," Ple Seven responded, attention shifting between her own feeds._

_"Eleven, I want you to stay near Twelve. The two of you provide backup fire while I use my funnels and Seven shields us."_

_"Got it!" Ple Eleven said, smiling. She came up beside her, keeping pace as Ple Three began marking targets. When she finished and ordered them to get in formation, Eleven spoke again, "Ready, Twelve?"_

_A nod. "Yes."_

_"I'll get the left, you take the right!"_

_Another nod. "Understood."_

_Ple Twelve closed her comlink, cannons locking on targets as a dozen funnels flew by on either side and hovered above the enemy mobile suits, raining down rays of death as she and Ple Eleven let loose not soon after, ripping through the enemy suits not fast enough to evade. The red one encased itself in a shield of energy, the beams deflecting away. The four of them dispersed Minovsky Particles so that none of the beams hit their Qubeleys, and the moment Ple Three stopped her funnels from firing, she ordered them to stay back._

_Ple Twelve watched as her older sister fired her main cannons while simultaneously charging the red enemy mobile suit, ramming into it. Before they could react, their older sister's Qubeley and the enemy both exploded in a fiery balls, bits of each peppering them. Immediately after, the comlink came alive with more activity than ever as her sisters mourned their loss—the fact that Ple Three was no longer with them. One of her screens opened up, Ple Nine's enraged face filling it._

_"Keep fighting, there are still enemies to take down!" Her shoulder moved in the feed, fingers pressing a series of buttons and out of her Qubeley's side view Ple Twelve saw her Qubeley coming up fast. "Master's enemies must all be destroyed, remember that!"_

_Just then, a cold chill ran down Ple Twelve's spin, as if the world had collapsed in on itself, her sight becoming dark and every sound silenced. Her sisters felt it too. All at once their faces popped up her Qubeley's displays. That same look of anguish, and soon enough, a few of them began to panic, starting with Ple Ten, who exclaimed what they'd all feared to say._

_"Master's dead! They killed him!"_

_Her comlink became overloaded with frantic chatter and she noticed Ple Eleven's Qubeley drifting closer towards her, as if the heat emanating from her Qubeley's thrusters would keep the coldness away. On her screen, she looked pale, while Ple Seven's face was far from forlorn, in contrast, almost as if Master's death empowered her own resolve to keep fighting. Ple Nine shouted something to shut them all up, her own face even redder with rage. Ple Four's voice, soothing and calm, broke clear through, shushing all the others._

_"Keep it together, all of you. We still have a task that's been given to us: to destroy Master's enemies, whether they be 'Gundam or 'Haman'. Everyone form a line, we'll hit our Master's enemies with one decisive blow!"_

_"You heard Four! Get your butts in motion!" Ple Nine shouted._

_"Eleven, Twelve! Let's move!" Ple Seven commanded, her Qubeley already doing so, boosting towards the coordinates set for them. At that moment, a stray missile smashed into her. She and her Qubeley were knocked off-course and sent spinning through space away from them. Her image on the screen jostled as she was thrown around her cockpit, and it filled with static seconds later, cutting off her voice that told the two of them to keep moving towards the others._

_"Seven!" Ple Eleven screamed. She turned her Qubeley after their older sister's fading mobile suit in the distance, and Ple Twelve was about to boost after her when Ple Four's voice cut in._

_"There's no time! Eleven, get back here! Twelve, get in formation now!"_

_Silently obeying, Ple Twelve mourned the loss of her sister, as did Ple Eleven, getting into formation. Yet, she strayed a little backwards, unsure of herself and that of what their purpose was, or, if they even had one to begin with. The question came to her then, as even though she was among her sisters, she was lonely._

_Gripping at her controls, she looked down. Could... a soul... be lonely?_

_Ple Eleven's screen came to life then. "Twelve, come on! We can do this! Together, all of us! Three and Seven are still here!" Her sister touched her heart and smiled reassuringly. That sweet voice combined with her smile. The way her eyes twinkled like tiny stars, despite how exhausted she looked, coated in sweat._

_And, right then, her pleasant smile was overcome by a powerful light, as a beam tore its way through their battle-line, its intense heat vaporizing her sisters' Qubeleys as it skimmed the space in front of her own, burning the head of her own and melting the outer shell of its armor, as all their lights vanished in the nothingness in space along with her anguish._

_And, desperately, crying dry tears, she reached out..._

* * *

Marida opened her eyes to see her arm outstretched towards the ceiling, trying to take the overhead lamp between her fingers, unable to. She retracted it and stared at her hand, clenching a fist and letting it fall back to the bed.

Regaining her senses, she looked around, smelling anesthetic. She knew where she was: a hospital. Yet, as her fingers grasped at the white sheets of her bed, she wished she wasn't. Life support systems were attached all over her body, feeding data to various different machines beside her bed, an IV line in her arm regulating fluids. Her right arm was in a splint and cast. She couldn't feel it. In fact, she couldn't feel the whole right side of her body, and, she tried in vain to move that side of herself. A door slide open and a nurse entered, attention moving from her clipboard down to her.

"Y-you're awake!" she exclaimed, rushing to the door. "Doctor! She's awake! Quickly!" The nurse then came to her side with a reassuring look in her eyes, pressing gently on the bed. "Don't try and move, alright? Your body is still far from recovering."

Marida nodded her understanding and they both turned their heads when the doctor entered the room. He was a thin man, hair grey and features grave. On his face was a pained smile.

"So, you are awake..." His eyes went to the machines. "Everything looks stable from first glance. May I see the clipboard?" The nurse handed it to him and he flipped through its pages. "You were _very_ lucky. The only injuries you sustained were a few cracked and broken bones, mainly in your right arm and leg. There was also internal bleeding, but we've managed to stop it. Your body will feel numb in those areas we've fixed for a couple of days, so I ask that you not try and move as already instructed." He gave the clipboard back to the nurse, pulling a small hand-held device from his pocket and turning it on. "Also, I was given this player from Mr. Zinnerman, who was unable to stay. He left it for you to view. Here," bringing up a table, he set the device on it and positioned so she could see, "this is for your eyes only. We'll leave the room. We hope you get well soon."

As the two of them left, Marida watched the screen as it buzzed to life and filled with Zinnerman's slightly static figure. He was sitting somewhere on the _Nahel Argama_. His features were shadowed by the area he was in, and while the quality was somewhat poor, she could clearly hear the concern in his voice.

"Marida, I'm leaving you in the care of someone I trust on Side 3, until this whole thing with Laplace's box cools down. Right now, I'm heading to meet with the Princess, who has begun a series of discussions over the future of Zeon and the Federation. It'll be awhile before I can come to see you, and... and I know you'll be alright on your own, so I shouldn't be worrying so much, shouldn't I?" He huffed and leaned back, linking his fingers together. "Your service is over from this point on, you're free to choose your own path from now on… No, that's not..." he looked down then back up after a pause, "You've _always been_ free. Now, all that's left for you to do is operate the controls." A faint smile. "I'll come back to—"

"Don't talk about me as if I'm not here, Zinnerman." It sounded like the Princess. And, sure enough, her slender form filled the screen. Banagher was behind her. "We'll all come back to see you, once all of this is over."

"That's right. Riddhe too." Banagher said, smiling, "He's torn up about what he did. I know you've already forgiven him by now, and told him that, but even still..."

"Marida, thank you for taking care of me..." the Princess said then, as Zinnerman filled the screen again.

"Do what you want, Marida, your life is yours now, as it should have been from the beginning." Her fourth master trembled, tearing up as the recording became fuzzy and shut off.

Staring at the blank screen, Marida lay there in utter silence. _Free to live my own life, huh?_ she thought after a moment, looking down at her hand again. She flexed the fingers. To grasp life between her fingertips and never let go, she chuckled at the idea. Turning up to the ceiling then, at the lamplight as it shined brightly, she closed her eyes and smiled.

If only they could have shared in her freedom, too. _Together_.

* * *

_"You hold it like that, yeah," Ple Seven told her, hand over hers on one of the levers of her Qubeley. "Move it forward, like this, and..." The cockpit came to life and Ple Twelve looked at her older sister, beaming beneath a stoic face of admiration. "See? It's not hard at all."_

_"Twelve!" Ple Nine roared, her small frame visible down through the open hatch on the platform below. A head shorter than the rest of them, she looked tiny from faraway, but made up for it with that big voice of hers. "You're with me! Seven, quit helping her! She's my partner, not yours! Go back to Eleven!" She leaned back and to the side, craning her neck. "She can't even get inside her suit!"_

_Ple Seven sighed. "So then why haven't you tried helping her out?"_

_"Because she's your problem, not mine!"_

_"I'm coming now." She moved towards the hatch and stuck out her tongue as she passed, calling back as she touched down on the platform for Ple Nine to make sure Ple Twelve got the hang of it. It was in her hands now._

_Ple Nine yelled back, "I know already! Get off my case!" She turned to her with a scowl. "Well, Twelve, it's you and me! I don't want you weighing me down when we start practice maneuvers, so I'm going to teach you everything I can so you don't become a burden!" She reached over and grasped her wrist. "Come on, first we're starting with training you outside in Zero-G!"_

_Her pint-sized older sister practically dragged her out, not that she was resisting, and landed on the platform. As Ple Nine led her away from the lined up Qubeleys, their sisters either going over their mobile suits or lounging about outside them, checking over their exteriors or chatting among themselves, the two of them passed by Ple Two as they came to the door that would lead them to the rest of the base, Ple Nine locking eyes with her as they went._

_"You're going to eat our dust when this is over, Two!" Ple Two just glared at her and Ple Nine scoffed. "You're going to be a million times less of an annoyance, Twelve, after I'm done with you! Count on it!"_

_Ple Twelve glanced back at Ple Two, whose back was now turned to them, standing within the doorway to the hanger. The oldest sister. She was so... detached from the rest of them. And, as Ple Nine stopped in front of the Zero-G chamber, she wondered why that was._

_The feelings... of a soul…_

* * *

Marida stared at the splint and cast on her right arm, a set of crutches were lying against the bed as she now took note of a bouquet of flowers in a vase that hadn't been there before. She must have dozed off without realizing, and sighed gently. The majority were an almost bluish shade of light purple, reminding her of her old mobile suit, the AMX-04G Qubeley; its single eye. The eye glowed back at her and she shied away, turning her attention to the machines. The memories were still painful, and, then, she thought, if that woman had salvaged hers, was it possible she'd done the same with her sister's? Deep down, she knew it to be an impossibility, and the more she tried to deny reality the harder it hit back.

Without a doubt, Ple Three was gone, sacrificing herself to destroy that red mobile suit and its pilot. Ple Eleven was caught in the line, along with Ples Four through Five. That left Ples Two, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, and Ten. Ple Six, she hadn't interacted with often, but she and Ple Eight and Ten were most likely also gone. More than likely, Ple Nine went down as well, or else she'd have heard mention of her by now, somewhere. Felt her undeniable presence. If it was Ple Seven, she would've already been down to visit her, whether she was allowed to or not. Which left Ple Two, but it was the same as with Ple Nine. There was no mistaking her if she were still alive. Looking back at the flowers, she wondered who had placed them there and when the doctor and nurse came, asked.

"It must have been Oliver," the nurse answered as she took the recording device and handed it off to the doctor.

"Oliver…?"

"Yes. Our senior technician," the doctor confirmed, pocketing the device and giving the nurse the clipboard in exchange. "A kind-hearted man who has worked here for many years. He regularly brings flowers to new and recurring patients alike."

"I see. Can you thank him for me?" A part of her wished it had been Ple Seven, even the tiniest sliver of a chance, but she swallowed her disappointment and smiled when the doctor nodded. "Tell him I appreciate the kindness."

"I'm sure he'll be delighted to hear that." After checking on some things she knew not the nature of other than they were vital in keeping her stability, he said wished for her to get well soon and left with the nurse in tow.

Once they had, Marida thought of how long it would really be before she could move again. Once she was released, where would she go? The contact Zinnerman had mentioned, the one he made arrangements with—what were they like? Were they a man or a woman? There were so many questions.


	4. Questions

**IV: Questions**

At his sister's second workplace, a warehouse owned by a company that transported supplies and equipment between the various colonies around Side 3 and sometimes even further, Lucas shuffled his feet, waiting for her late night shift to end. Leaning against one of the easier accessible hangar entrance doors, hands in his pockets, twenty minutes had already passed since he'd first arrived. To kept his mind occupied other than counting the dozens of ships holding crates of precious materials, many going to expansion efforts around the colony to ease the overcrowding issues still prominent within, he thought of the flowers he'd given to his dad and wondered who they were for, this time. Not that it really mattered.

Scratching the back of his neck, he asked one of the workers that happened to pass by for the time and sighed. Ten more minutes had passed. Knowing his luck, Léon had probably slipped past him and was already on her way home. He didn't even know why he'd bothered coming down. He leaned forward, linking his hands together as he stretched. Gazing up at the artificial stars above the colony, chewing on a piece of candy, a full hour went by before he decided to head back home.

Thinking of the green mobile suit that black Gundam had been fighting as he left the warehouse, the information his mom had let him view was certainly interesting, but really hadn't told him anything. While the original suit was called a Qubeley—and piloted by the Haman Karn, no less, as his mom's story had revealed, which was cool—that didn't mean the one he'd seen was, also. If only he had more to go on…

And, coming to the front door of his house, he went around back like before. His mom wasn't at her station, and… maybe… Glancing around, he made sure she wasn't anywhere nearby because if caught he'd suffer a fate worse than death and slowly crept his way to it. He'd barely made it to the chair when a voice came from out of nowhere.

"Need something?"

He jumped back, wide-eyed, heard pounding. "Don't s-scare me like that!"

"Don't go snooping around things that aren't yours." Léon was lounging on top of a stack of crates next to his 800 which Mom must have picked up or had her get, a lit cigarette in her mouth.

With a grimace he acknowledged her retort. His heart still raced. "I-I didn't know... that you... erm…"

"Only when I can't help it." She stared at the ashes from the bud as they shimmied to ground when she lit it—little flickers of light in the night—before flicking the stub somewhere unseen with a smirk, "And that isn't often."

"Right. Well, a-anyway," he took a seat one of the crates by the warehouse doors, waving away lingering smoke, "where are Mom and Dad?"

She nodded toward the house. "Sleeping. As I'm sure you can guess, Mom told me to keep an eye out. So, what are you looking for?"

He hesitated, then, "I'm trying to identify this specific type of mobile suit I saw during the broadcast of that battle earlier today. Mom showed me the one it was based on, but none of that info helped."

"And? What was it?"

"A Qubeley, piloted by Haman Karn."

"That right?" She pulled out another cigarette, but threw it away without using it, and looked hard into his eyes. "You want to know more about this suit you saw… because…?"

Lucas looked down and began twiddling his thumbs, "Well," he shied away, "I don't know… If on the off-chance I pilot it, I want to know what I'm doing… So… I just thought…"

"That's never going to happen," she scoffed, coughing. "You, piloting a combat-approved mobile suit? Zeon or Federation? Get real." Her tone was now low, gloomy.

There was also a hint of forlorn in her voice that he couldn't place; the reason unclear. Was she upset about her own failed efforts? In turn, his own anger rose. "I know you, Mom, and Dad are against it, but what else is there? I might end up hating it, but at least I can say I was one!" He glared at her, animated as he spoke, "That I tried! That I was really experiencing what so many others have! That you, Mom, and Dad all have!" He wasn't mad at her, of course not, but the fact that he was limited in his freedom to do what he wanted. To be who he wanted to be. Even if he knew that in the end it wouldn't amount to anything. "I don't want to be the only one left out!"

"You don't have to be the big man and prove yourself to us, you know. Being a pilot isn't as glamourous as you think. You don't want to pilot one. Take it from me."

Seeing her oil streaked face beneath the ball cap and bangs, her blue eyes, cold. The pain and the regret and the sadness in them even though she smiled. Normally tough as titanium, she now shook like a malfunctioning machine past its prime. "Sis…?" He came forward a bit, holding out a hand, "You don't look so good. Maybe you should lay down and—"

She turned away."I have a headache from the cigarette. It's been awhile since I've... done it..." There was a certain lapse to her words, as if she were choking on them. Suddenly, she cradled her head in her hand, and closed her eyes. "Ah… Just… Nevermind. Go to bed, will you?"

"A-alright, I will, but I still think you s—"

"Go. _Now._"

* * *

Lights out, hands on his stomach, Lucas lay on his bed, thinking of the lengths Mom would go to see that he doesn't become a pilot. Of course she would have a plan to keep him away from her workstation—that wasn't what surprised him. What did was that Léon had been it. At the least he would've expected there to be some sort of failsafe, a lock that prevented him from accessing anything without the proper passcode or something along those lines, but never in a million years would he have suspected Léon being there. He rolled over on his side, staring at the wall.

If Mom had convinced Léon to stop him, then the information he wanted was definitely on there somewhere.

And perhaps even more.

* * *

The next day he went directly to the warehouse after breakfast and found his mom and sister standing and talking in front of his 800. They were speaking too low for him to hear what, but they appeared to be arguing judging by their body language. Whenever she was agitated Léon always crossed her arms and leaned, while in contrast his mom was loose and relaxed and rarely anything else and it was hard for him to tell if she was too without hearing her tone of voice. Regardless, he waited until they broke off from one another. Léon stalked off, ignoring his early morning greeting and disappearing into the house. His mom noticed him standing there and called him over, asking what he wanted.

"Dad made breakfast," he mentioned, looking back toward the house as he went up to his 800 beside her. "Eggs and bacon and some muffins."

"Only some?"

"I ate a few."

She laughed softly, "A few, huh?" Flashing a tiny smile, it vanished when she turned to his 800 and a moment passed before she spoke again."I heard about last night," she revealed.

He blushed. _As expected, discovered already._ "Ah… See.. About that…"

"You wanted to know more. It's only natural," she said with a smile that once again vanished quickly as it came. "And the same can be said of your sister."

"Huh?" His eyes widened a fraction. "Is that why the two of you were…?"

"I purposely kept information I deemed harmful a secret. All of it is there,"—she gestured toward her workstation—"locked away safely. And when she tried to press me for about the Qubeley, I refused and here you and I are talking as a result."

"I have the feeling she wasn't looking for specs?"

His mom shook her head. "No. And, if you to know what, you'll have to ask her yourself."

"I don't think she'd like that."

"That she wouldn't." Her eyes went to floor briefly. "You remember when you two first met? Officially?"

"Of course I remember," he said, reminiscing, a little unnerved by the cracks now visible in her normally iron will. Whatever argument they had, it really upset her. It'd been nearly seven years since dad had introduced them. Officially. Unofficially, they'd already met days before then, and he couldn't help but tingle at the thought that once upon a time they'd hated each other's guts. Then he felt a knot in his stomach and accompanying pain, remembering vividly the literal punch to the gut he'd taken during that unofficial encounter. "Why?"

"Back then, she was distant. Lost in her own worries and fears and doubts. This made her violent, but, eventually, she began to let go and was and still is better because of it."

He was reluctant to pry, and then he thought of the cigarettes. "Is that why she smokes?"

"As a coping mechanism, yes."

"From… what…?"

"That I can't say. Again, ask her. Let me explain," she went over and took something from her workstation, talking as she did, "Study this photograph." It was offered to him. He took it. What do you see…?"

It was small picture, like one kept in a personal living quarters, tacked to the overhead compartment with a piece of tape or a nail. The picture was faded, its quality worn from the years that had clearly gone by since it'd been taken. Despite, he could see that the boy in it as if it were taken only yesterday. His innocent grin made it come to life and no amount of time was going to change that. He had soft eyes and a baby-like face, blonde hair—not unlike himself—and the more he stared the more the boy's Zeon uniform looked out of place. He was proud. Proud to wear the uniform; proud to be a member of the Principality of Zeon. His grin reflected this wholeheartedly. Behind his eyes there was a strong sense of duty.

"A young cadet?"

"He's my little brother," she said. "Your uncle. His name was Erwin. He was killed in action during the One Year War. No, don't apologize. You have no reason to. It happened quite some time age and..." Even so, he waited for her to say more, but she looked up at his 800 and didn't seem to be in the mood. Then, she began anew, "I want you to keep it." He thanked her and she continued, "You know, there are over a hundred modifications that I've done to spruce it up. Years of work… Yet, no matter how many modifications I put on her, she's still the same machine. Since she was first thought up in the minds of the engineers who built her, put on blueprints, and then manufactured—she's only had one purpose: cleaning up messes… and the mistakes of the past… And, like machines, people grow obsolete as time passes them by. They become useless and are abandoned as the world around them advances. Some… sooner than others…

"Though, unlike machines, no matter how many modifications are put on them, they are built for more than one purpose. It may not seem that way at first, but, they are. People change. They grow, they adapt, they _learn_."—she gave slight nod of acknowledgement at the photo—"Like the boy in that picture. Going from a simple bratty kid on the farm to a soldier just like that… But, sometimes, they become stuck in the past and can't move on. Trapped between their regrets and self-guilt and everything else that weighs them down…. Your sister is one such individual—and it seems that now those things have resurfaced. Ghosts from the past have come back to haunt her."

"G… Ghosts…?" He was confused. "What do you mean?"

But, she didn't answer and instead told him to get ready for school. Sending him on his way, he was left to contemplate her words.


	5. Ghosts

**V: Ghosts**

_Look on the past fondly and keep your head held high for what lies in store for the future. __Accept it and move forward from it, but, never let it go. Always remember that, Léon._

* * *

_Spitting up blood, grasping at anything she was able to, she tried to hold on as the world keep on spinning, threatening to scramble her insides. The hit had been head-on and devastating. She was rolling._

_Spinning and twisting and jostling through space, her small body being slammed into the bulkhead of the escape pod behind her, the cockpit filled with the sound of cracking as something gave and the alarms blared in her ears. Directly. Dangerously close._

_Her helmeted head was pressed against the speaker, its booming intensity rupturing her eardrum. Gritting her teeth, she pulled away and hit her chair, grabbing onto it and supporting herself as liquid oozed from her ear and began to drip. Listening to the plunk as whatever it was hit the thermoplastic glass of her helmet, she wheezed and gagged. It was then she realized: the world was no longer spinning._

_Her Qubeley was floating silently, non-essential systems shut off. The speakers were no longer blaring. None of the lights were on and she reached down for her emergency flashlight. Barely big enough to fit in her hand, she shone it around the small space and assessed the damage._

_Everything was in relatively working condition besides the majority of communications and feeds. Broken, their screens smashed by the force of the missile's impact and her own body. The ones that did work were blank, the only thing in her Qubeley's view being the darkness of space._

Don't be afraid.

_She'd been knocked farther away from the battle than she'd thought. Wherever she was drifting, it was quiet. Nothing was supposed to be in the immediate area, or so her Qubeley's sensors indicated and yet…_

Everything's going to be alright.

_She looked around. Nobody else but herself. Nothing else but the fuzzing of her Qubeley's speakers and the static on her feeds. Though, she'd thought someone had just spoken to her. Faintly, like a whisper. Knocking on the side of her helmet, she shook her head._

_They'll find you soon._

_"Find me?" she said aloud, looking at her Qubeley's area radar. Nothing. Her feeds continued to show the vastness of space, no matter which one she looked at. Sitting down in her chair, she chuckled. She was going to die alone in the coldness of space, aimlessly drifting like debris from a leftover battle._

_Debris…_

_Going to her navigation system, she punched in coordinates to Master's base, getting the general location rather than a pin-pointed absolute. Which could only mean that it was destroyed. As she curled up in the chair, the compressed air around her growing all the more thinner, colder, she heard the whispering again._

It's still there, _it said._

Go there, _it told her._

_Her hand moved for her Qubeley's controls and jerked away in the same instance—there was no point. It was gone and no self-conscious voice in her head was going to convince her otherwise. She could hope and hope, but out in the nothingness of space she was already dead. Just waiting for the inevitable. Giving up was the only thing she could do now—there was nowhere else for her to go._

Give up? You never give up!

_She looked up. That hadn't come from inside her head. It'd been loud and clear, but wasn't coming from the speakers, either. Slowly, it picked up in volume. Steadily, it became something she could make sense of. A voice that was… somewhat frustrated and encouraging at the same time. All around her. She looked at her Qubeley's area radar again. Nothing in the vicinity. Of course. Her sisters… contacting her… What a cruel joke. After all, all of them were…_

Don't cry. It's not like you to cry!

_Collapsed on the controls of her Qubeley, she felt something touch her hand. Something... pleasant. It was warm and so very… familiar. Eyes watering, her head jerked up to reveal the glowing figure of a girl who'd been so timid in life and couldn't look more cheerful in death if she tried. Her smile was the most radiant thing about her; it alone seeming to illuminate the entire cockpit. So much that she had to shield her eyes from the brightness._

_"Don't give up," Ple Eleven told her, shaking her head. Helping her to her feet, she stared out into the space around them. After a moment, she pointed in a direction that matched the one on the navigation system. "Silly, it's right over there." Guiding her hands to the controls, she turned the Qubeley in the direction. "You're the one who taught me to not be afraid, so now's my chance to teach you. Don't give up, alright?"_

_She continued to smile as her spirit faded, dissolving in as many twinkling stars that shined around them, and when the last of her light was about to leave her, she gave one last farewell._

"You still have maneuvers to perfect with me. I'll be waiting for you until then!"

_Reaching her hand out to the light that was now gone, she grasped at nothing and looked at her hand. "Don't go…" she whispered, bringing the hand to her chest. And, staying her tears, she grabbed her Qubeley's controls and started her thrusters. No matter what was left of Master's base, there was no turning back. No giving up. No crying._

_She had someone waiting for her, after all._

* * *

_Ple Seven closed Ple Eleven's cockpit hatch and floated back towards the staging area platform, one hand on the railing while her other adjusted the helmet of her normal suit. She flipped on her comlink and gave her the thumbs up. She backed up as soon as her partner started powering on her mobile suit, the single eye of her Qubeley faintly glowing with a purplish light. It moved around hesitantly from side to side. Eventually, the Qubeley lurched forward, hitting the railing. Over the comlink, Ple Eleven was frantic. Ple Seven wondered how her personality developed the way it had. Her… reluctance… was..._

_She cracked a smile. "Don't sweat it," she told her. "Pull back… away from the railing. Slowly, yeah, like that." She held up her hands and guided her younger sister until she'd done as instructed. Going to the other side of the railing, she pointed down at the launch pad her Qubeley would attach itself to, then at the hanger bay doors and the vacuum of space outside. "Secure your Qubeley's feet to the pad and then, when I give the signal, I want you to propel yourself forward and launch. Once you're out there, do a couple of basic maneuvers for me." She looked back at her and waved. "Think you can do that?"_

_"Uh-huh! R-right! And once I'm done with the maneuvers, t-then what?"_

_"I'll join you, that's what."_

_"Ple Eleven, launching…!"_

_Ple Seven turned away as her partner flew past, the heat from her Qubeley's thrusters felt even as she was already out the hanger bay doors. Her grey mobile suit became just an insignificant speck in the vastness of space then, and Ple Seven called her on the comlink again, telling her to start performing the basic maneuvers after she'd situated herself. Content with her partner's steady progress thus far, she leaned back on the railing. After watching her partner for a time, she heard someone approaching and looked over, blinking upon who it was. The eldest sister herself._

_"Seven, I need to speak with you," she said, briefly watching Ple Eleven in her Qubeley do some type of barrel-roll. "Whatever you're doing here can wait." Ple Eleven's Qubeley weaved in and out of an imaginary debris field and did another barrel-roll._

_"Is it about that hateful glare you got going for you?"_

_Her older sister's eyes went to her like two funnel beams boring into her head. "I'm not the type for tasteless remarks."_

_"Yeah, you're right, that's more Six's style." She checked in on Ple Eleven, getting confirmation that she was "just fine" and "comfortable", then: "She'll laugh at someone getting blow up." Her hands came together then came apart. "_Poof._"_

_"Enough of your games," Ple Two snapped, getting closer. "Listen to me. I sense a presence, not one of us, and it… _agitates _me," she whispered._

_"If it's Master you're talking about..."_

_Ple Two shook her head. "No, not Glemy." Her hand curled into a fist. "Every once in a while, at the back of my mind, I feel this presence. It's very faint."_

_"Maybe Four can help you. She's—"_

_"Politely declined. Three said if she felt anything, she'd tell me. Five and Six don't care. Eight through Twelve… I haven't spoken with."_

_"You want me to help you… what?"_

_"If you ever feel something at the back of your mind that you can't explain, I want you to tell me. There's… something familiar about it."_

_She shrugged. "And if I don't?"_

_"If you or any of the others don't feel anything, then it's only affecting me."_

_"So, does this mean you'll be warming up to the rest of us from now on?" She did a half turn. "Whenever we eat you always sit by yourself. The younger ones give you… odd stares…"_

_"Nine glares at me. Your point?"_

_"You notice?"_

_She scowled. "What makes you so…"_

_"Easygoing?"_

_**"**_Annoying._**"**_

* * *

_Dodging asteroids and other space debris, she went from the navigation system to Master's base right in front of her. Or what was left of it._

_The base had been built into the side of one of the larger asteroids in the area and housed all of she and her sisters' means of living, from their quarters to their Qubeleys that were docked in the hanger. As she came closer, slowly, there was indication of a battle having been fought, scorch marks and impact craters that weren't natural covering the asteroid and the others surrounding it. She heard chatter on her communications systems and hid behind one of the asteroids closest, turning off any systems that'd give her presence away._

_The base was still standing, like her younger sister had said. It wasn't gone, but, it wasn't safe to enter, either. Lights appeared from the hanger and she watched as two Zeon mobile suits left it. When they were far enough out of range she eased her Qubeley into the hanger and unholstered her sidearm, making sure the area was clear before opening her hatch and floating to the platform below. Looking around, the hanger was a mess._

_What could she have possibly hoped to find besides a ruined home? Turning back to her Qubeley, she wondered if she should just try her luck with whatever awaited her in space._

_Don't give up—her sister's words came to her then. She gripped her sidearm. That's right, there was no turning back. She had to keep going. Going back to the platform, she looked at the spare Qubeleys lined up in their rows, seeing that most of them had been sabotaged or flat out ripped apart and rendered useless._

_Could it have been Haman's forces? Or the Federation?_

_The two Zeon mobile suits that'd left earlier had the color scheme of Master's forces, so… that meant they'd held off whichever side had attacked the base… Yet, still something felt strange…_

_As she carefully made her way towards the door that led into the rest of the base, she examined the damaged Qubeleys further._

_Their cockpits had been shot through with projectiles and she could see blood splatters through some of the larger holes. Hardening her resolve, she went to the nearest one and peeked inside. Immediately, she pulled away and hit the railing. Her hands were shaking, eyes wide as she didn't want to think that what she'd seen to be real._

_A Ple clone she didn't recognize was in the cockpit, her normal suit's torso punctured full of bullet holes and her mouth agape, eyes glossy and lifeless. Someone had killed her and her eyes darted between the other Qubeleys as her mind imagined mutilated bodies in each and every one of their cockpits._

_Remains of sisters she hadn't met yet._

_That meant there were more of them somewhere. Not in the hanger, but the further in the base. It looks like the one she'd seen had tried in vain to escape from something, but… what? She heard footsteps and scrambled behind her dead sister's Qubeley, holding her breath as they came closer. One, no… two people. Male. She picked up on their conversation._

_"These children, I can't believe there's so many of them." The first one to speak had a deep voice and by the sounds of it was totting a rifle of some type in his hands. His boots clanked on the platform. "It makes you think what that creepy bastard had in store for them. What he was going to use them for…" He sounded middle-aged, a slight strain to his voice inside his helmet._

_"You didn't know? His own personal army against Haman, but that plan fell through the moment he died." The other sounded far younger. She heard him click and unclick a weapon at his side like it was a toy. "Which is why we're purging them in the first place. No more use for 'em."_

_She heard him stop and lean against the railing in front of the Qubeley she was hiding behind. Oxygen filled the hanger again, one of them having pressed the controls that'd shut the hanger launch-bay doors. She heard the younger man sigh as he removed his helmet. A moment later, the older man did the same. There was a sound of a lighter being lit. A trail of smoke._

_"You shouldn't—"_

_"What? It's not like there's anyone else here besides us."_

_"I mean it's bad for your health."_

_"You and your 'it's not healthy to…' whatever bullshit," the younger man clicked his tongue and exhaled. A brief silence elapsed and she thought she heard him laugh, but it'd sounded more like a hoarse wheeze. "You know these clones, there's one thing they're good for, though. Besides target practice, of course." The older man said something in disgust. "Oh come on man! You can't tell me you haven't thought about doing it yourself at least once? It's like nothing you've ever felt before." He laughed again. "Snug."_

_"How can you be so casual about it…?" The older man's boots clanked on the platform, approaching the cockpit of the Qubeley. "These children… they're not objects for you to—"_

_"Don't give me that bullshit, Maris! I know you have a wife and kid, but come on! It's not like these little shits are human! They're clones!"_

_"That doesn't change the fact that they're still children!" the older man shouted back, and she heard him curse the younger man under his breath. He seemed to string his rifle across his shoulder and enter the cockpit. "Such a shame…"_

_"What do you think you're doing! It's dead! Oh, you're not gonna do your prayer bullshit again, are you?!"_

_Shifting her position, her sidearm hit the Qubeley and the sound reverberated inside the hanger as she heard the younger man curse._

_"It sounded like it came from the suit…"_

_She held her breath and cursed her own stupidity as he approached. He sniffed and it sounded as if he were checking the inside of the cockpit. He fired off two shots._

_"There. If it wasn't dead, it sure is now! You even closed its eyes and shit! What's up with that?" He jumped back to the platform and holstered his weapon. "Alright, break's over! Time to head back or the commander will roast us!"_

_"Right…" The older man's voice was sour._

_"Ah, cheer up!" The younger man clasped him on the back. Just then, the oxygen left the hanger as the two of them put their helmets back on._

_She heard them start to leave and dared to peek. They hadn't noticed her. She was about to go back behind the Qubeley just in case when she heard something. A voice fiery as molten steel._

Don't let them…

_The shortest and most outspoken of her sisters' materialized before her down on the platform. Her eyes were fixated on their dead sister in the cockpit. Her fists were tightly clenched, her teeth grinding as her hatred boiled to its extremes. It was even stronger than when Master had died._

You can't just let them go.

Don't let them get away!

These… these… _bastards_ don't deserve to just walk away!

_And, before she could react, her sidearm was aimed at the younger one's backside. Ple Nine was beside her, touching a hand to hers. Guiding her fingers toward the trigger and gently upward._

"There. His head. Don't miss. Remember, he deserves it."

_The only thing she felt was the slight recoil as the spent casing left the chamber. The compacted thud as it hit the younger man's helmet and the soft flesh underneath, bone and tissue coming out the other side as he fell forward in shock. Before his body even hit the ground her sidearm had moved on to the older man._

_Another spent casing._

_Another corpse._

_Ple Nine was now satisfied, looking upon the two dead men, standing over their bodies. She turned to her and nodded in the direction of the door, then looked back towards the Qubeley and their dead sister inside of it. Two bullet holes were in her forehead. Blood was floating from the wounds an forming into clotted clumps in the lack of oxygen and drifting away from the cockpit. The clumps floated between the two of them as she spoke again._

"She's waiting for you."

_She felt something push her from behind and glanced over her shoulder._

"Don't slow down. She's waiting for you…" _Ple Nine crossed her arms and nodded again toward the door as she pushed her forward a second time. Turning back around, her sister smugly egged her on one final time._

"When you get back, I'll definitely beat you! Just you wait and see!"

_After she started to walk again, Ple Nine's spirit had disappeared._

_Stepping over the corpses of the two men, she made the mistake of looking the older one in the eyes. She vomited in her mouth and tripped, smacking down hard on the platform, her sidearm skidding over its edge._ Don't slow down. _With_ _Ple Nine's pain and anger fresh in her mind, the frustration, she tried her best to expel the right and wrong of her actions from her mind and continued forward, holding onto the railing all the way to door._

_Looking back one last time, she said a pray regardless for the older man. The younger one; she shared the same sentiments as her younger sister. He deserved what he'd gotten. A bullet to the brain, gurgling on his own blood until he choked and_—no, she couldn't think that way. _She wasn't… like that…_

_She wasn't going to turn into a person like him. No chance in hell._

_The door closing shut behind her, she inhaled deeply as soon as her helmet was off. Staring at the mixture of sweat, vomit, blood, and other bodily fluids soaked into it, she threw it against the wall. Pulling the lighter and a cigarette she'd taken from that bastard's corpse, she flicked it on and off, holding the cigarette to her mouth._

_A way to cope with death._

_A way to cope with killing in cold-blood, up-close, personal, and something rawer than what she'd ever felt inside her Qubeley._

_Unexposed._

_She coughed, doubling over, hacking up spit. Throwing it to the ground, she continued to cough. It had tasted awful. Yet, as she stared down at herself, flexing her fingers, they were no longer shaking. It'd calmed her down; lured her mind away from the torment of killing and the pain of death. The stress, the regret, the anxiety. It'd numbed her senses for the briefest of moments and she wiped her mouth. Peering down the hallway, she wondered what awaited her further inside as she clutched at the lighter still in her hand._

_Whoever it was, was waiting for her._

_Steeling herself, she dared another cigarette to further calm her nerves for what she was about to do..._

* * *

_"She really looks up to you."_

_Ple Two kept her eyes on her two younger sisters as they left the hanger, the door closing shut behind them. Her sleeved was ruined now. "Is that how you see it? And why do you think that…?"_

_"You're more thickheaded than I thought…" she said with a chuckle, fiddling with her comlink._

_"Don't patronize me, Seven."_

_"I wasn't. It's just…"—she scratched her cheek—"If you noticed the way she looks at you all the time, then how can you not notice it? Nine admires you. I bet Nine is the one who looks up to you the most."_

_"And her hostility towards me is her way of showing affection? That's—"_

_"Frustration."_

_"Excuse me?"_

_Ple Seven shook her head, "She's frustrated because you're such a stiff. That smug, 'I'm more superior than you losers' face you make don't help either. In addition to the scowling…" Touching her comlink, Ple Seven then ordered Ple Eleven to bring her Qubeley in for landing, telling her it was time for a short break. She went back to her, "Come on, it's not time for a meal or anything, but this is as good an opportunity as any. We'll bring Eleven along too."_

_Ple Two watched her go past with ire. "What are you planning?"_

_Her younger sister shrugged as she looked over her shoulder. "You'll see." She tossed her the comlink. "Take over for me! You need the interaction!" Halfway down the walkway now, she abruptly stopped. "Oh… and, Two?" She looked back with a smile. "Be nice to her!"_

_"Wait, you—!"_

_But, watching her leave the hanger like Ple's Nine and Twelve before, Ple Seven was gone. _

_Just as Ple Eleven's Qubeley came boosting in to her docking position, she went to the railing and put her hands on it, looking out into the darkness of space. The stars. There were so many of them._

* * *

_Look forward and keep going… no matter what happens._

Leaning on the railing that overlooked the hospital, Léontine glanced down at her grimy, oil-coated hands before turning her attention to the stars in night sky. Her chest started to swell and she clutched at it, an old anxiety tightening around her lungs as she the memories that were coming back to her now, after all these years... were so very... painful.

"So, you're going by Marida now..." she whispered under her breath, touching her ball cap. "Is that it, _Twelve_?"


End file.
